


Without Words

by MaevesChild



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Heresy, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8581846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: Inspired by a prompt from: http://www.scattereddelusions.com/avs/DAPrompts.htmlCullen x FenrisWithout Words





	

Fenris went to the Chantry to pray.  

It was funny, how easy it became part of his life.  Sebastian suggested Fenris try prayer instead of violence to calm himself.  He did it the first time to prove Sebastian wrong.  But there was something about the silence.  It calmed the angry wolf growling in the back of his head.  

Fenris hoped the scent of incense, the hard pews and the solitude would quiet his other needs today. There he was finding no solace.

_ Garrett. _  Fenris hated himself for it.  Garrett Hawke was irreverent, jovial and inappropriate. He took nothing serious, not even his dalliances.  Worse, he was a mage.  That didn’t stop Fenris’s body from reacting every time Garrett got too close.  Fenris knew in his soul he was scarred from his time as a slave.  His sexual urges, his preferences were forever shaped by the magisters.  Those monsters touched him and more often than not, he liked it. 

Garrett was no magister, but the similarities were too obvious to dismiss. Fenris remembered every moment of the one night he finally gave in to Garrett.  It was took everything he had not to give in again.

The demons of his past haunted him.  Garrett wanted Fenris to love him.  Fenris wasn’t sure he would ever be able to untangle Garrett from all those other lyrium scented hands that touched him before.

Better that Garrett stay with Isabella.  Better that Fenris stay away.

Still, Fenris wanted.  His body refused to obey him.

He pressed his forehead into his folded hands and it hardly registered when he heard the door open.  He felt the momentary breeze of cool night air brush over his feverish skin.  A few footsteps.  Then silence descended again.

Fenris prayed.  It didn’t help.

* * *

 

Cullen came to the Chantry to pray.

The Templars had a chapel in the Gallows, but it wasn’t the same.  It felt too small and he had to be vigilant, looking over his shoulder even as he tried to lay his troubles at Andraste’s feet.  He couldn’t find peace there tonight and Maker knew he needed it.  His eyes focused on the candlelight flickering off the carving of Andraste’s face.  He wished she had answers for him.

He had nightmares still.  The darkest of those, the ones where he relived the horrors of Kinloch, those never tormented him so much as the dreams where a desire demon wore Alim Surana’s face.

Cullen was always guarded.  The others said he was repressed.  Cullen himself was convinced that sexual feelings were for other men.  But when the demon crept into his mind, it uncovered all those things he tried so hard to keep hidden.  He woke from those dreams, body aching and needy and he hated himself for it.

Not a mage.  Never a mage.  Never again.

Cullen stumbled into the nearest pew, oblivious to everything except his own distress. His body rebelled against him.  He tried to banish Alim’s face, his lanky elven body and the scent of lyrium out of his head.  The pew bit into the back of his legs and he tried to pray even though he knew it would give him no release.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone.

* * *

 

Fenris flinched when the pew jostled.  The old wood creaked.  It took a moment before it registered who was beside him.  He’d never seen Knight-Captain Cullen out of his armor before.  Fenris wasn’t sure he’d actually thought about Cullen as a man at all.  All that armor made him something else.

No armor now.  Fenris caught the faint scent of soap and lyrium.  He felt the unmistakable heat of male body beside him.  Cullen’s thigh brushed up against his as he leaned forward and put his elbows on the back of the pew in front of them.

Fenris swallowed hard enough he heard the click of his own dry throat.

* * *

 

Cullen felt the brush of a body against his hip.  

He thought he’d be alone.  It was late, very late.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  He didn’t want anyone else to know.  He knew all his sins were reflected in his eyes.  He tried to think of the Maker, of the Chant, even of death but those thoughts flittered away like ash in the heat of a fire.

Instead, all Cullen could think of was silken skin under his calloused fingers.  Of lips and tongues and things he’d never known were even possible until the demon put them in his head.  He begged for a reprieve from this constant hunger.  He prayed in vain for his body to obey him.

His god and his erection stubbornly ignored him.

* * *

 

Fenris was watching Cullen’s pained profile, backlit by the faint candlelight.  He knew he shouldn’t stare, but it was so unexpected.  Not another soul in sight and in the dead of the night and a tall, handsome man practically fell into his lap.

He was praying for relief.  Maybe if he was alone, maybe then he could stop thinking about that sweet temporary insanity.

Fenris figured the Maker wasn’t listening.  Maybe he wasn’t even real.

His eyes glanced over to Cullen’s white knuckles where they ground into his forehead.  His gaze danced over the square bones of Cullen's wrists, over the glitter of gold hair on his forearms.  Fenris felt the corner of his mouth quirk.  Cullen was nothing at all like Garrett.  He was serious, quiet, pious.  He was fair where Garrett was dark.  There was darkness behind his eyes; Garrett was as bright as noon in summer.

Fenris inhaled through his nose.  Lyrium smelled different when it was on Cullen’s body.  Fenris moved his long, slender thigh deliberately so it brushed against Cullen’s again.

Maybe the Maker  _ was _ listening.

* * *

 

Cullen felt the moment against his leg and looked up to find Fenris watching him.  His breath hitched in his chest.  

He came here to find peace, soothe this incessant need he couldn’t satisfy.  But the proximity of another man sent his blood surging.  Not a man,  _ an elf _ and he knew that was worse.

He noticed Fenris before with Garrett Hawke.  Hawke himself was too crude to capture Cullen’s attention, but the tall, slender elf with the whorling tattoos immediately caught his eye.

Fenris wasn’t like Alim Surana at all, not once Cullen got past the sleek tapered ears.  Alim was pale and soft and the one time he actually touched him, his skin felt like lightning.  Fenris was golden; he was hard.  His eyes were serious even now, not flippant or teasing.

He smelled of lyrium but Cullen knew he was no mage.  

Fenris’s pupils were dialated wide in the dim light.  He blinked.  

_ Had the Maker heard his prayer? _

Cullen couldn’t speak.  He bit his lip.

* * *

 

He watched Cullen’s expression carefully.  Was he seeing things or was this sudden attraction he felt real?  A shock of desire rushed through him when Cullen bit his lip.  His tongue flicked over his lower lip before he pulled it into his mouth, straight white teeth dipping into the pink skin.

Fenris wanted to bite Cullen’s lip for him.  Had Andraste brought them together?  He looked up at her statue looming over them.  Her face was kind and approving, not judgmental.

He turned his eyes back to Cullen.  He was nervous, hesitant.  Fenris understood.  He had been the initiator when he went to bed with Garrett.  He knew his demeanor said  _ don’t touch. _  Cullen’s said something else.

Fenris reached out and curled his fingers around Cullen’s jaw.  He said nothing.  

Time seemed to stretch out around them.  Fenris’s heart pattered in his chest; his cock throbbed helplessly in his leather pants.  He didn’t dare breathe.

Cullen leaned into the palm of his hand.  Wordless permission granted, Fenris leaned in to kiss him.  

* * *

 

Cullen wanted to submit.  He was tired, weary right into the marrow of his bones at being in charge.  He melted into Fenris’s dominant touch.  

He wanted to be torn to pieces.

His hand fell onto Fenris’s thigh and he moved his fingers without thinking over the taut muscles.  Heat radiated through tight leather.  He found the laces by instinct and fumbled with them.  Failing to untie them, he pressed his palm against the hard ridge of Fenris’s cock through the leather.  Someone moaned.  Cullen tore his mouth away from Fenris’s, trying to catch his breath.  He dragged his lips along the salty flesh of Fenris’s throat to his ear.  His tongue fluttered along the shell of his ear.  Cullen took the slender, tapered tip into his mouth.  

He was fascinated with these beautiful elven ears.  Fenris’s erection pulsed against his hand.

* * *

 

Fenris almost spoke, almost chuckled darkly at Cullen’s fumbling but before he could gather his thoughts Cullen’s mouth was on his ear.  He lost the ability to form words.  Cullen couldn’t have known how sensitive they were but his tongue moved as if he did.

Cullen’s hand, his touch, it wasn’t enough.  He needed more.

Fenris couldn’t stand it.

Where Cullen fumbled, Fenris succeeded.   The laces of his pants undone, Cullen needed no encouragement to take advantage.  Broad fingers were against Fenris's bare skin.  They wrapped tightly around the width of his cock.  Cullen panted in his ear but still said nothing.

Cullen slid off the pew, down onto his knees and looked up at Fenris, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.  He licked his lips.  His entire posture was submissive.  He waited.

Fenris spread his knees further apart.  He threaded his fingers in Cullen’s hair, curls like clinging vines.  He met Cullen’s questioning eyes and couldn’t help a small smile.  He gestured with his head; not quite a nod but Cullen knew.  

He knew.

Cullen leaned forward, his arm wrapping around Fenris’s waist as he took the hard length of his cock into his mouth.

* * *

 

Fenris’s head cracked back against the wood pew.  He didn’t feel it.  

Cullen didn’t tease.  He was intent, insistent, his hot month pulling on the length of his cock. Fenris wasn’t sure he would be able to withstand it for long.  He leaned his head forward, wanting to watch, to further remind himself this was something new, something better than he’d known before.  He slid his bare foot along Cullen’s bent leg, wanting to touch him in return.

But Cullen had that well handled, his own hand working his cock.  His head bobbed in rhythm with his hand stroking himself.  Fenris put his hand on Cullen’s head.  His fingers went numb.

He’d been frustrated for days and now his release felt like it would come too soon.  Yet he craved it; he needed it.  His breath caught in his throat and he growled, fingers flexing again into Cullen’s hair.

* * *

 

Cullen was going to spill his seed on the floor of the Chantry, but he only feared that he wouldn’t last until Fenris came undone.  A part of him wished there was more time, that they were somewhere else.  He wanted to be used, to be commanded.  

But this, this was better maybe.  This was wrong.  It was right.  It was perfect.  

He felt Fenris’s fingers flex into his hair, tight against his scalp.  He pulled Fenris’s cock into his mouth as far as he could so he couldn’t even think of speaking.  He groaned instead, choking, almost gagging when the head of Fenris's cock bumped the back of his throat.  His eyes watered.

He tasted bitterness in his mouth.  Fenris pulled his hair.  Only then did Cullen let himself loose control.  He swallowed reverently, not daring to spill a single precious drop.  He let his own semen splatter on the floor.

* * *

 

Fenris gently moved Cullen away, hands on either side of his flushed face.  That insistent ache, the distraction was finally silent.  He was  _ grateful _ .  It was the only word that fit.  

He leaned down and kissed Cullen on the mouth.

When he pulled away, Cullen opened his mouth to speak and Fenris hushed him with the pads of his fingertips.  Words would only muddy things.  He knew they both had demons to battle.  There weren’t words for those.

He pulled Cullen into his arms and they held each other in silence.  

* * *

 

Fenris and Cullen came to the Chantry to pray and Andraste answered. 


End file.
